


Lipstick Traces

by fallenstar



Category: Placebo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenstar/pseuds/fallenstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stefan reminisces about a night spent with Brian long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lipstick Traces

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer; I do not know the band; this never happened. (If you have evidence proving otherwise, please send it my way)

Tendrils of cigarette smoke float towards me as I reach the doorway. He is spread lazily across the sofa; his feet perched on one armrest and his head leaning on the other. He hasn’t noticed me, or at least, he is acting as if he hasn’t. He takes a deep drag on the cigarette and exhales with obvious pleasure. The scent stirs something inside me; I recall the weight of a cigarette held between two fingers, the roughness of a spark wheel against my thumb and the way the ember glows brighter as you finally inhale.

He appears to be admiring lipstick marks imprinted on the filter. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him wear lipstick, I realise, years. I remember scrubbing the stuff off glasses and mugs when we used to share a flat. The tacky smell of it when he would plant a kiss on my cheek; I would wear the deep red smudge with a secret pride. And once, as he knelt before me in some stinking alley, those cherry lips wrapped tight around my dick, leaving rings as he sucked. I clear my throat, forcing the image from my mind. He turns his head sharply, suddenly aware of my presence.

“Shit, Stef, you scared me!” He says, sitting up and swinging his feet off the sofa.

As I glance away I can feel my cheeks burning. He taps the seat beside him.  I find myself frowning, trying to funnel my embarrassment into some other emotion.

“Oh,” he says, taking a drag self consciously, “Sorry. I forgot you’re trying to quit.”

He turns away to exhale and then adds mockingly, “Again.”

He grins sheepishly and I can’t help but smile as I walk toward him. I flop down beside him and pass over a pile of papers, still warm from the printer.

“Two weeks cold turkey,” I tell him, a hint of pride in my voice.

He nods and holds the cigarette away from me, a small gesture. He glances over the documents quickly then looks up at me.

“You’re not tempted at all?”

I find myself staring at his mouth as he brings the filter to his lips. I am licking my mine involuntarily.

“You make it look pretty tempting.”

He raises his eyebrows at me, exhaling a stream of smoke though pursed lips. I turn away, berating myself; _God, why did I say that?_

I dare to look up at him and his eyes sparkle as he laughs.

“Maybe I’ll land a sponsorship deal,” he kids.

“Malboro owe you a share of stocks, at the very least,” I say, watching him.

He chuckles and the deep red of his lipstick strikes me again. He reaches over to the coffee table and butts his cigarette out in a dirty saucer. He looks at me guiltily, perhaps expecting me to scold him.

“Y’know, I should get going, I didn’t mean to take up your whole afternoon,” he says apologetically, standing slowly and stretching.

I resist the urge to take him by the hand and pull him back down. _Stay,_ I long to say, feelings of nostalgia washing over me. I stand quickly, positioning myself between him and the door. He is focused on his phone, frowning as he enters my address into a taxi booking application.

“You should wear lipstick more often,” I tell him, regretting the statement immediately.

He looks up from his phone but doesn’t appear fazed.

“Oh, you like it? I wasn’t sure but the makeup artist was pretty pushy. I left it on for the novelty factor, really.”  

“It reminds me of what you used to wear,” I say honestly.

He looks at me curiously and I stare back. He has grown his hair out; freshly dyed, the black bob sits in loose waves. His eyes are framed with heavy makeup and I think he’s even had his brows waxed.

15 years seem to slip by in an instant; I can see him leaning back against a brick wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Grinning as his lipstick smears. His dress is damp with sweat and kneeling on the cobbled pavement has left ladders in his pantyhose. I stagger toward him and rest my arms either side of his head. The bricks are rough against my palms. I kiss him hard, tasting myself in his mouth. Other flavours too; cheap lipstick, stale cigarettes and the yeast of beer. He slinks his arms around my waist and in that moment I believe that he is mine. But it’s fleeting, a feeling I have been chasing ever since.

“Stef?”

He takes a step towards me, he looks concerned.

“Are you alright?”

The Brian of now sounds slightly huskier. He has the symbol of his sobriety inked onto his wrist. He has too much hair; he has a garden shed and a yoga studio and _a kid_. This is not the same person you fell in love with 15 years ago, I remind myself; _he’s close enough_ , a less rational part of me argues.

He reaches out to brush his hand against my arm, the papers he holds scrunch against my sleeve. I can’t help but lean closer. He opens his mouth to say something but I don’t give him the chance; my lips are on his and he doesn’t pull away; _he kisses back._

Suddenly, his tongue is in my mouth, sharing his smoky flavour with me. I massage his tongue with my own, opening my mouth wider to take more of him in. I hear the bundle of papers hit the floor as he reaches up to wrap his arms around my neck. I hold his waist, directing him slowly across the room. My hands explore his body and he moulds to my touch.

His back meets the wall with a thud; I press myself hard against him, my crotch dragging against his. He arches up, causing greater friction between our bodies. My hands slide beneath the waistband of his jeans, untucking his shirt as I trace the soft skin of his stomach with trembling fingers. He leans back, allowing me easier access to unbuckle his belt. I pull it out roughly and he gasps as the cool metal buckle brushes against him. I toss the belt behind me and begin to unbutton his fly. He afflicts me with quick hot kisses, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip each time he draws away. I thought I knew the shape of his mouth, the heat of it, the taste and texture; how suddenly the familiar is made anew.  

I inch his jeans down and my fingers are met with bare flesh; no underwear, I should have guessed. I take his dick in my hand and he moans into my mouth, kissing me with renewed fervour as I stroke him. I pull away from him reluctantly and he looks up at me with hungry eyes. His lipstick is worn and smeared; I’m probably wearing most of it now, I think with a grin. His forehead glistens with perspiration; wisps of hair cling to it in damp curls. He watches me intensely; his pupils wide with lust.

I sink to my knees and he whimpers in anticipation. I place one hand on his hip and wrap the other around his shaft. He bites his lip as he watches me. I start off slowly, lavishing attention on the head of his cock, licking off pre-cum with quick flicks of my tongue. He is impatient, bucking against my fist, desperate to slide inside my mouth. He leans down and places his hand at the back of my head. I oblige him, and take him all inside, sucking hard as I deep-throat him. He moans loudly and I feel his fingers grasping at my hair.

I look up at him, mesmerised. His eyelids flutter and his chest heaves. One arm is stretched above him, fingers scraping helplessly at the wall. His lips make a perfect ‘o’ and emit a frequency of pure pleasure. I work faster, tightening my grip on his hip for better leverage and he rocks himself to my pace. I sense that his isn’t far off orgasm and slide my hand down to massage his sack. He throws his head back, his eyes rolling; I can feel his nails sinking into the back of my neck. He cries my name as he releases into my mouth, replacing the last syllable with a lengthy moan. I pull back and swallow, he shudders against me.

I stand up and rest my hand back on his hip. I cup his cheek with the other, and then brush some loose hairs back, tucking them behind his ear. I glance down as he tucks himself back into his jeans; his dick is ringed with soft red imprints. He reaches up, smiling as he wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb; more lipstick smears, no doubt. He slinks his arms around my waist and without a word, kisses me. His lips linger on mine; the kiss is sweet and tender, his way of thanking me. He finally breaks away, patting his pockets and pulling out a box of cigarettes. I am reluctant to break our contact but step back to lean against the wall beside him. He takes a cigarette out and sticks it in his mouth.

“Can I tempt you?” He asks with a smirk.

I scoff. “Again?”

He chuckles as he pulls the cancer stick from the corner of his mouth, and then plants it between my lips.

“One cigarette won’t kill you,” he says as he lights it.

The very idea of a cigarette has my body buzzing but actually smoking it sparks alight each synapse in my brain. The pleasure hits me immediately and I sigh as I exhale.

“You always were a bad influence,” I tell him, watching as he lights one for himself.

“The worst,” he agrees, taking a deep drag.

We stand smoking in silence. He is a picture of bliss as he puffs away and I feel as good as he looks.

He glances at the door, “My cab will probably be here.”

“I can give you a lift, it’s fine,” I offer. _Just don't leave_ , I want to add.

I want him to stay; stay and talk, stay and fuck, stay and smoke. 

“Really, you’ve already done enough,” he says, smiling slyly.

"Just returning a favour," I say, acting nonchalant.

He takes a step toward me, closing the gap between us. His hand reaches for the back of my head, pulling me down into a quick kiss goodbye. He seems to hesitate as he pulls away; his fingertips skim the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

“I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow,” he says as he walks to the door.

A car horn sounds from the driveway below. He pauses as he twists the door knob, and then turns back to me.

"Y'know, I didn't think you remembered," he says.

I take a step toward him, "What, rehearsals?" I ask, confused.

He lowers his gaze, "That night we... I, _y'know_."

That night we spent together in a dim, reeking alley. The dull echoes of electronic music pulsing from a nearby club, the scurry of rats underfoot and a whisper; his face pressed against my chest as he whispered, _I love you._

It takes me a moment to find the words, "How could I forget?!"

His eyes meet mine and he smiles at me sadly.

"Maybe it would be better if you did," he says softly.

I walk back into the lounge room and butt my cigarette out in the same saucer he used earlier. He trails behind me. I bend to pick up the papers he dropped, then turn to face him. I take a deep breath and brace myself for rejection.

"Because I don't think _I_ can," he adds, his voice cracking.

That's all I need to hear; I embrace him tightly. He sinks into my arms, his chest shaking as he sobs. I kiss the top of his head and then lean down, my mouth against his ear.

"I love you.”

I nuzzle in against his neck; inhaling his scent and pecking a trail of kisses downward. My lips meet his collar and I pull back. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and blinks tears from his eyes, then clears his throat.

“Shit,” he mutters, “I’ve got lipstick on your shirt.”

“Makes two of us,” I say, glancing at his collar.

He laughs and wraps his arms back around me. This is the moment to supersede my memory of that night so long ago. There are lipstick traces in my mind, but he is here, he is now; _he is mine._  

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was just meant to be a lil something to help me get inspired to finish another story, but I liked it enough to share. It was sort of inspired by the song Dead Radio (oh poor Rowland will be rolling in his grave...). I don't know if the first person narration works well but I wanted to try a more succinct style. 
> 
> For some reason I changed the ending as I was editing the draft here, maybe a bitter sweet ending would have worked better but I'm feeling mushy.


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